Three's Company
by Mirikizu
Summary: Slight AU FredxOC starting in OOTP. I KNOW Fred is more than a tad out of character. There IS, however, a reason for such, which will be made obvious in due time. Until then, get over yourselves, read it, and please review. I needs mah luffs too.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer-slash-A/N:** I do not own _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_, upon which this fanfiction is based. While I have met the twins, I do not, nor have I ever, owned them or any other character JK Rowling has created. My only claims are Amaris Dughan, the plot, and the iPlod. This disclaimer applies to the entire story.

Please read and review – and a beta reader would be wonderful, too! =] Gods bless. -Breilyn

**Edit:** I do apologize for the mix-up. Her hair is BLACK with RED streaks, not RED. *authorfail*

**Chapter 1**

I walked into the Great Hall, treading lightly behind the first years. All around me, students were milling about at the tables, trying to get a look at the crimson-streaked raven-haired wonder that held no resemblance whatsoever to the first years she followed behind. _I'll be the talk of the place for weeks!_ I thought to myself, snarling a little at the thought.

My long cloak trailed on the floor as I swept toward the dais at the front of the Hall. Blue-hazel eyes flicked toward the ceiling, and a slight smile shone in them at the realization that the clouds were mere meters above my head, the stars not much further. Those same eyes came to rest on the silver-bearded Albus Dumbledore, now standing before a rickety old three-legged stool with an even more ragged-looking hat sitting atop it.

He nodded ever-so-slightly in my direction, and I smiled back with a nod of my own. He'd explained everything as soon as I'd emerged from the Thestral-driven carriages (Yes, I can see them), ushering me into his office for a quick word while Professor McGonagall treated with the yearlings. I supposed I would learn who she was at a later point in time, which, as a matter of fact, I did. I was quasi-confused, but I assumed most everyone here was at some point in there lives. Most of them, though, didn't have to go through the sorting at sixteen.

My eyes roamed the length and breadth of the Hall as I walked down the pathway between the tables. McGonagall had us line up behind her, and, one by one, she called out names. Each time, the boy or girl would sit on the stool and settle the hat on his or her head. The hat would invariably shout one of four names, assumingly the houses. The amount of time it took, however, was incessantly different for every person, and took anywhere from half a second to a minute or five. Finally, she came close to my name (only about ten minutes in), and I realized that, not only would everyone see me, they would know my name. I gave the professor a pleading look, but her eyes flicked pointedly to the stool, and I sighed obediently.

"Dughan, Amaris," McGonagall said, her voice echoing through the ominously silent Hall. She gestured to the stool, and I reluctantly took my seat. The hat flopped over my head, and the world went dark.

"Ah," said a voice somewhere around the back of my head, "another one? Your father, girl, now he was something. Too bad he didn't stay long at all, that one." The hat sighed, and I could tell he - for surely it was - was poking around where he shouldn't have been: in _my_ head.

"Get out of my head, you," I snarled, glad the hat was extremely large.

"Feisty, this one. I think I'll place you in...GRYFFINDOR!" I cursed softly as the hat glided off my head, seemingly of its own accord. I wouldn't have doubted it, even then. McGonagall gave me a little shove toward the loudly clapping table, and, reluctantly, I went to sit.

I glanced around the table, seeing a few familiar faces in the forms of people I'd taken the carriages with. 'Harry Potter, was it?' I asked myself, walking up to them. "Mind if I sit?" I asked in a quiet voice.

"No, go ahead," a young ginger-topped girl answered, scooting over a little to give me some room.

Harry smiled at me. "Amaris, did you say?" he asked. "Didn't you ask me-"  
"How the platform worked?" I cut him off. "Yes, 'twas me. Harry, right?"

"Yeah, Harry Potter. This is Hermione Granger," he motioned to the bushy-brunette on his left, "and Ron Weasley," this time pointing to another ginger on his right.

"Amaris Dughan," I said, nodding to them both, though neither returned the gesture. Some people, I huffed in mock-anger.

"You don't look like a first year," one of the older gingers in front of me said. They looked to be around a year older than me, actually, and closer in looks than two peas in a pod. Were all of them siblings? Gods above! Their poor mother…

"Really?" I asked innocently, my entire posture dripping sarcasm. "I was wondering why I could see over their heads." Standing with correct posture, as the British liked to say, I was 143cm tall. Needless to say, the only people I was taller than were eleven year olds.

"Height and developmental stages are on two different ends of the spectrum," Hermione quipped. Everyone around her except for Harry and myself looked completely befuddled. "Mugglism," she muttered with a blush. "Sorry."

"No worries," I said, grinning. "I have the same problem. No life." Hermione laughed, and I knew then we'd be great friends, no matter that I had a year on her.

"You didn't answer my question," the ginger twin prompted me impatiently.

"I didn't think you'd asked," I said matter-of-factly. "In all honesty, I haven't heard a question but for mine since I sat down."

He glared at me, but his twin spoke before he could quit sputtering incoherently. "What Fred means is, are you a first year?"

"No," I said, wishing to disclose no information whatsoever about my personal life. "But if he were to ask any other question, I would probably be just as difficult about it." That should shut them up for a while, I thought smugly. But that fate was not to be mine own.

"So why are you here at all?" Fred asked, deciding to ignore my warning after only a few minutes.  
I mentally swore, but felt I had to answer at least part of the question. "Dumbledore wrote me a letter, same as you," I told him. "I just got it five years late." I never could help taunting my elders. I always wondered why I'd gotten into loads of trouble back then.

"Five years?" Hermione blurted incredulously. "No-one's ever been invited after their eleventh birthdays. Did he say why?"

"He said..." I trailed off, wracking my memories. "He said he couldn't contact me before, because otherwise..." I paused again, thinking hard. "Otherwise I'd be dead."

~*~

Surprisingly, that shut them up, more so than if I'd told them to. There was a bubble of silence around me, and I was the center of it. What was the world coming to? I wondered, past caring even at that point. Silence? When I'd been one of the loudest at the orphanage? Mayhap there was magic in the world after all. Of course, when it concerned me, how could there not be?

Rhetoric, I swear.

Dumbledore stood up again, raising his hands. The silence spread to encompass the entire room, and I didn't feel quite so alone anymore. Yippee. He said a few words on behavior and such like, introduced the new teachers, then lowered his hands. Almost immediately afterward, the golden plates in front of us were filled to the brims with food. I dug in eagerly, wanting nothing more than to keep the silence from breaking. But with my luck, it didn't last long at all.

"Where are you from, Amaris?" Harry asked, looking a little nervous. I supposed that, even though he seemed to be the leader of this little crew, he wasn't all that good at it yet. Wonderful. Just bloody perfect.

"Cornwall." I didn't want to be too specific, but I was going to spend all year with these kids, younger though they might be. During our meeting earlier, Dumbledore had decided upon my intermingling between fifth and seventh years, because of my lack of official tutoring. Another 'yippee'.

"Really?" Hermione asked, seemingly sincere in her interest.

"Yeah," I answered, smiling a little at the thought that someone actually knew the value of the place. Most just thought it was another province.

"Where in Cornwall?" Either she _was_ sincerely interested, or she was trying awful hard to find out where my family lived, for fairly obvious reasons.

I felt it couldn't hurt. "I grew up in the old castle. You ever heard of it?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nope. Sounds wonderful, though."

I nodded, sort of relieved. "I loved it, but most of my mates despised living in the 'draughty auld place'." At this, I mocked my friends' old Irish accents, smiling a little as I did.

"Are you talking about Tintagel?" one of the twins asked. Fred, I realized later. I nodded, the shock evident in my face. The others looked confused, so he elaborated. "Allegedly, it was the home of Queen Igraine, wife of Uther Pendragon. Merlin himself used to visit there often enough."

Ron laughed. "Merlin? Right, like he'd ever stoop so low as to visit _Cornwall_."

I glared at him, none of my hurt showing through my eyes (I hoped). "For your information, Merlin visited worse places than _Cornwall_," I growled. "He was born in a hovel, for Snoimhar's sake. He was a bard before anything even remotely resembling a wizard! And you have no right to speak of him so!"

"Touché," Fred's twin muttered, though none of them commented on my references to the Gaelic Fates (thank the gods). "And I thought _Hermione_ was bad!" The girl in question glared daggers at him, but spoke naught.

"How would you know, anyway?" Ron demanded. He knew he was losing, and was trying to save face as best he could.

"Father knew him." As everyone's eyes around me widened to the size of the plates on the table, I swore, loud and long. "I didn't say that," I mutterd weakly.

"Yes you did. That means…Your Da was old!" Ron's grin was triumphant. The little bugger.

"Yeah," I agreed sullenly. "He probably was."

"Was? As in six feet under?" Fred asked, eyebrow raised.

"Insensitive prat." The curse came out as a snarl, and I found myself on my feet. Realizing I had no real choice, I shut my mouth and stalked from the Great Hall. Damned pride. I'd figure how to get into my room later, but I was too furious to do anything about it now. Instead, I made my way out onto the grounds, running desperately across the grass.

I had noticed on the way to the school that there was a large forest surrounding the grounds. At the time, I hadn't known anything of the ban against it, nor the fact that it was called the Forbidden Forest for a very specific reason. I was hurting, and missing my father. The only comfort I had left to me was the trees themselves.

Said trees were not as comforting as I'd initially hoped, but they were a start. I could hear the undergrowth move as a creature, sounding like none I'd heard before, crept across it. I stepped lightly, disturbing nothing in my search for somewhere that even remotely resembled home.

Some time later I found a lake, probably an extension of the lake on the open grounds. Without a second thought, I flung myself toward it, glad to have found my element at last. The perfect place to re-stitch old wounds. The feeding stream gurgled as it poured into the lake and out again, and trees of all sorts lined the shores. Oak, beech, willow, elm, ash, and rowan were most prominent, while various evergreens filled in the gaps. I was in heaven.

That is, until I rushed headlong into a faceful of horseflesh. I stumbled backward and looked up in the same moment, swearing inaudibly at the predicament before me. Centaurs, I thought, rather peeved. Busybodies, more like.

"Students are not to be in the forest without Hagrid," the centaur rumbled, a tad annoyed himself.

"Like I need the giant's protection," I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm.

"You have been warned, girl. Next time, we will not be so tolerant." The centaur turned, ready to disappear into the forest again.

"Bugger off, you stupid pony," I muttered with a glare in the man-horse's general direction.

"What did you say?" the centaur demanded, whirling. "You dare not insult our kind!"

"You're all a bunch of cowardly Shetlands, anyway." Too late to back down now, I reasoned with my quailing other half, pride at it again.

"What did you say?" he roared. Merlin, was I good at pissing people off or what? Inside I was fairly jumping for joy. Wreaking havoc makes me happy, what can I say?

I roared right back. Only, my roar was a lot louder. And more cat-like. "I said, bugger off, you damn ponies!"

"Pony? Is that what you consider us? Ponies?" As one, the herd emerged from the trees looking menacing with their short bows pulled taught, all their arrows trained on me.

"Yes," I told him in a softer tone, almost deadpan. "Ponies. Or do you consider yourselves draft-mules, seeing as you're halfbreeds?" I was the ONLY one in the entire school who could get away with that line. I was also the only one in the school who was one, but don't tell them that.

The collective herd was steaming now, but, seeing as the stallion in front of me hadn't given the word, they weren't going to fire. Yet.

"Can't think of anything to say, or is a stick too far up your big arse for you to get anything past it?" It wasn't being _nice_, per say, but at least it was better than saying he was outright constipated. Wouldn't have been a good insult anyway. He probably wouldn't have understood it.

"You foolish _child_!" the horse-man cried, charging me. He'd seemed to have forgotten his bow, which was just peachy on my part. "How dare you insult our proud race!"

"Proud?" I scoffed, sidestepping him with ease. "Proud of being cowards, more like. Where were you when the Morrigan called? Where were you when battle raged fourteen years ago?" I could see each word sticking them like thistle flowers as he froze, mere inches from me. "Where were you when your lords needed help? Cowering behind a failing evil, hiding your faces from the world in fear? Is that what you consider courageous?"

"We could ask the same of you, child." A dappled grey stepped from the throng, his hands at his sides. "Where were you when the Morrigan called?"

I held my head high. "Defending my people to the last," I told him proudly. I was a mere pup, but I'd contributed my fair share of help. Voldemort's first attack on Europe had spread as far as Romania, where Mother grew up. We'd been visiting her family's caravan when word of _his_ arrival reached us. That was when _Dai_ had left.

"Well met, then. How is your honored father?"

"Gone, as are the others of the tribe." My eyes never wavered, no matter that they filled to the brim with tears.

"May he rest with the Goddess, then," the grey said, his head bowed.

I thanked him silently. "May I have leave of the forest, my lords?" I asked. It seemed they had forgotten my insults when I had reminded them of their duties.

The grey never faltered. "In the name of your father, then, girl." And without further ado, they were gone.

I sighed, smiling a little at my prowess. My eyes flicked skyward, the moon swinging into view. I judged the feast to have ended, so I marked my route for later and slipped out the way I'd come.

It seemed I had timed my arrival almost perfectly, for I found the Gryffindors leaving the table to follow the Head Boy to the dorms in the northernmost tower of the castle. He shouted a password, I cannot for the life of me remember what it was, now, and the portrait of a very large woman swung open to reveal the Gryffindor Common Room.

Nice place, I thought, glancing around. This place was more for the comfort of its inhabitants than the competition of the school, and it showed. The fireplace was large, and surrounded by plenty of wing-backed chairs (one of which I claimed almost immediately) and couches galore.

Once in my chair, I refocused my gaze on the staircases leading up to the girls' and boys' dormitories. The girls' staircase was much more ornate than the boys, I noticed. And I was sure many others did too.

Hermione prodded me in the back, and I rose to follow her, albeit sullenly, up the stairs. She pointed me toward the sixth-year rooms, and I saw that one of them had my name on it, so I entered. The room was large enough for a single four-poster, a nightstand, and a vanity. I blinked, wondering why I was special enough to warrant my own room, when I'd never spent a night alone in my life. When I exited, I said as much to Hermione, but she only replied that the room would grow in size when more sixth years joined me. At the moment, though, there was an odd number, and I'd been given one to myself.

It was only much later, almost when I'd fallen asleep that night that I realized there might have been a greater purpose than the one Hermione had suggested. No-one need know what I am, I thought sleepily. Wonder if Dumbledore planned it after all?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I never realized just how tall the twins were. For some reason, I'd always bumped into them at the tables, or in the common rooms, or in a classroom, and they were always sitting down. Always. After my first week of classes, though, I chanced upon them standing. And I must wonder, even now, why it took me that long.

Learning my way around the school, at least for the most part, wasn't all that hard, and was accomplished within my first week at Hogwarts. So it was no surprise at all when I was able to make my twice-weekly Transfiguration class a wee early. I slipped into my desk and pulled out my wand, twirling it idly for want of entertainment. The door opened and the twins entered, checking the hallway behind them for clearance. They forgot, though, to check the classroom.

One of them (George? I had trouble learning their differences in the beginning) entered before the other and sat in his desk to pull something out of it before standing again. He walked back to McGonagall's desk with said thing in his hand, passing me by as he did.

I blinked warily, understanding just how tall these boys actually were in comparison to my measly 143cm. They were 165, give or take. Not that I was complaining, but it did get a little overwhelming knowing that your classmates (albeit older ones) are that much of a margin taller than you.

The blinks, though, turned altogether too quickly into a screw-up-your-face-for-a-sneeze. Neither of them noticed; understandable, seeing as they hadn't seen me by that time, they weren't going to. When I let it loose though, both boys jumped at the sound of the sneeze.

I shook my head, clearing the explosion from behind my eyes with a few bats of my eyelashes. I could feel their eyes on me; whether or not they were glaring remained to be seen. I looked up through my lashes, determined to milk this for all it was worth.

"What're you doing here, sixth year?" one of them demanded. I think it was Fred, seeing as the other one still had that whatchamajig from his desk. "Class isn't to start for another ten minutes!"

"I could ask the same of you two," I said, innocence fairly streaming from my pores. Dumbledore had tested me on my first night here, and had placed me in the seventh year Transfiguration class, along with a few others. Gee, I wonder why.

Fred sputtered a bit, but George rose to the occasion quite nicely. "Don't pull the innocence crap," he said matter-of-factly. "It won't work on us." He puffed out his chest a little, probably unconsciously. But knowing them, perhaps it wasn't.

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked, still pulling said 'innocence crap'.

"She was sneaking, I'll bet," Fred muttered to his brother.

"Spying, more like," he answered. His gaze never wavered from my face. "Why are you here?"

"Waiting for class to start," I said with a shrug. "And you," I nodded to Fred, still not sure about names, "are too pompous for your own good. Shall I take a needle to your ego, or does your girlfriend do it for you?" Pot calling the kettle, looking back on it now. Perhaps the Catholics were right – it _is_ deadly.

"Angelina's not my girlfriend," he muttered darkly.

"She hasn't met Percy, else she wouldn't say that," George stage-whispered to his twin, his hand not blocking his mouth. They'd have made great actors, now that I think about it.

"She stil hasn't answered the question, either."

"Will she ever?" l returned.

They both looked at me strangely, and I couldn't help but laugh at them. "Don't you ever talk in third person about yourselves?" I asked them. "'Tis highly entertaining."

Before they could recover, the class began to fill. They couldn't pull anything with so many witnesses, and couldn't afford to visit Filch again that week, even though it was only Tuesday. So they swore and took their seats.

Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet entered the room together, shooting simultaneous glares my way. I'd only been there a week, and they were already feeling threatened. I smirked and preened at their attentions. _Buggers_, I thought.

McGonagall entered, silence descending upon the room. I turned my attention to the front of the class, knowing full well that the professor wouldn't have her pupils' undivided attention today. They were too busy glaring at me.

"Today, class, you will be turning an armchair into a moose." I blinked, astounded. This woman made no sense! Next she'd be having us turn the moose rack into a jackalope! "Because the moose is so big," she continued, "you will each perform separately, and in the front of the room." I swore. How was I supposed to work with everyone watching?!

It seemed that the entire room had the same opinion. "Why are we performing?" someone asked, probably Lee Jordan. He wasn't as adept at Transfiguration as some of his classmates, but he wasn't the worst, either.

"Because I asked you to. And since you have no qualms, Mr. Jordan, you shall be the first. Come." She motioned to the conspicuous armchair beside her. "You may begin when ready."

"But why, Professor?" the boy asked sullenly, trudging to the front of the room.

"You will need to perform such magic in front of your examiners, Mr. Jordan. I suggest you start learning now."

"Yes ma'am." Lee waved his wand. The chair became a moose, right enough. It wasn't, however, what McGonagall had asked for. The moose, instead of fur, was covered in the patterned brocade of the chair. Lee swore, and changed it back. McGonagall nodded, and motioned for her next victim, a girl on the front row. Her moose's feet looked more like the legs of the chair, but they weren't near as noticeable as Lee's mistake.

One by one, the students filed to the front, trying to draw out a moose from the chair. Only a few people were able to without fault: the Weasley twins, Angelina Johnson, and myself. I was rather amazed that the twins, what with their notorious trickster reputations, were able to perform any higher level magic at all. But then, I reasoned, how else would they be in High Transfiguration?

McGonagall awarded 40 points to Gryffindor for our troubles, and sent us out when the bell rang. As I stepped out of the classroom, I was immediately assailed by none other than Alicia Spinnet, Mari-Hater #3.

"Dughan," she hailed. "Come here a minute."

"Aye?" I asked, approaching warily. This girl, out of the three, was the only one who seemed remorseful whenever I caught her gaze.

"You saw my moose?" she asked unnecessarily.

I refrained my retort, wanting to know why she'd called me out, and not as one of the Hater Squad. "Yeah, I did," I said.

"D'you....I can't believe I'm asking this of a sixth year, and one I'm supposed to despise, no less, but...Could you, like, help me?"

I couldn't believe my ears. "You want me to tutor you in Transfiguration?" I clarified, stunned.

"Yeah, and...and anything else I have a problem in. I'm not the brightest, you know..."

"I reckon I can figure sommat out," I said, trying very hard to keep the reluctance from my voice. "When do you have time?"

"Well, Quiddich doesn't start for a couple weeks...Can you do it tonight, maybe?"

"Sure. In the common room, then?"

"See you around seven, okay?"

"Alright." I started toward Fifth-Year Potions.

"Hey, Dughan?" Alicia called after me.

"Aye?" I half-turned to meet her gaze.

"Thanks."

"No problem, Spinnet." On that note, I dashed off.

The rest of the day went quickly, with only a few _minor_ mishaps on my part. I'd had the audacity to talk back to Snape about the ingredients of a particular potion, and he'd had the gall to take points from my house for every word I'd spoken against him. As such, I didn't speak for the rest of the day, and glared daggers at him whenever his back was turned.

I stepped into the Great Hall for supper, already dreading the looks from the other students. Sure enough, there was a glare from each of the Gryffindors, and most of the other houses too. Slytherin, though, was applauding me. Probably for the exact same reason as the glares, if I wasn't mistaken.

I sat down in the only seat available to me: across from the Weasley twins. Just. My. Luck. Life hated me. The gods hated me. The gods-forsaken _school_ hated me. The least they could do was _pretend _to put up with me. But of course, being the Weasleys, they didn't.

"Nice going today, Dughan," George muttered around a mouthful of food.

"Great work. Don't think I've known anyone to piss Snape off quite so well," Fred added.

"Thanks, guys," I said, letting sincerity override my sarcasm. "I really appreciate your support."

They laughed. "You've _got _to be joking," Fred told me matter-of-factly.

"Nope," I said. "Completely serious. At least it's something, compared to the rest of these louts."

"We were being sarcastic," George said.

"I wasn't. Hard to believe, no?" I laughed, and dug into my supper. Mmm, unnamable mystery meat again. Delectable.

"You're quite bonkers, Dughan."

Fred nodded in agreement. "What did Spinnet want with you after Transfiguration?" he asked me, their sudden change in subjects beginning to annoy me.

"Nothing to fret over, Weasley. She wasn't asking me out or anything. 'Twould ruin her image, to be dating a sixth year." I smirked.

"Don't you insult Alicia," George said warningly, a slight flush creeping over his cheeks.

"Was I insulting her? I was merely stating what she WASN'T doing, Weasley. No need to get defensive."

"You're insulting me, George?" the girl in question asked, shoving a third year over to sit next to me. "Hey Dughan."

"Spinnet."

"What were you two talking about earlier?" Fred asked again.

"Oh, nothing." I have _got_ to stop speaking. This 'at the same time' crap has got to stop.

The boys laughed mirthlessly. "Right," George told us. "Talk."

Alicia looked at me, and I shrugged. It was her reputation she was asking to ruin. "I asked her to tutor me," she told them after a moment's pause.

Their mouths fell open. "Why didn't you ask me, Alicia?" George asked, clearly hurt.

"You're a guy, George. And as good a friend as you are, there are some things you don't understand."

"So why not Katie or Angelina?"

Alicia sighed and shook her head. "I'm giving it a go, and you two had better be quiet about it. I don't want people to know I'm being tutored." Not that she was being tutored _by a sixth year_.

George sighed in defeat. "Alright," they chorused dutifully.

"Thanks, boys," Alicia said, her voice the picture of sincerity. She turned to me. "What'll you be tutoring me on?"

"The question is, what do you need help with?" I asked. "I'm not all that sure about theories and stuff, seeing as..." 'I grew up without a wand,' I almost said. "I grew up with muggles." And gypsies, but I didn't remember most of that. Damned war.

"The theories are easy," she told me. "But it's the practice itself that kills me."

"We'll work something out."

"Alright." And we all tucked in.

I was in an armchair by the fire when _he_ showed up. Red hair glinting and hazel eyes like the fire behind him, he was a sight indeed. And not all that bad of one, either. I said nothing, waiting for him to announce himself.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded of me, swinging a chair to face me and blocking my view of the flames. Not a smart move, boy.

"I think I was thinking about how best to kill you for interrupting my meditation," I said flatly. "Why do you ask? I don't normally think out loud, but I'm sure I can make an exception for you."

"Why are you tutoring Alicia? Do you know what this'll do to her rep if it gets out?"

"Why do you care?" I shot back. "Not your choice, remember?"

"Still! She's a Gryffindor, and we have to stick together!"

My eyes darkened, but he couldn't tell in the half-light. "I've yet to see that bond," I murmured.

"You don't count."

My own eyes flared, and I _know_ he saw them, for he blinked a few times, not trusting his own eyes. He should have. "Bugger off, Weasley. It's none of your business." I stalked to my room, eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. It was only when I was curled on my bed that I realized my pupils had slitted to those of a cat's when I'd glared.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

After Alicia had left, I'd curled back on my bed, reduced to tears once more. I'd realized just how much everyone hated me while we'd discussed her tutoring sessions and such like, and it killed me. I wanted to die, then, and I didn't care how.

It was around nine when I finally emerged, my face red, my eyes swollen, to curl up by the fire in the common room. Most everyone had gone to bed, but for a few fifth years (namely Potter and his gang), the Weasley twins, and the Mari-Haters three. I ignored them all, preferring the company of the fire over them any day.

Pretty soon, though, everyone decided to converge on the fireplace. All eight pairs of eyes rested on me and my intrusion of 'their' space, so I rose. "Y'all have fun," I told them, sniffling a bit. "I'm going for a walk."

"You'll get caught," one of the boys told me before I was halfway to the portrait hole.

"Says you," I told him without turning. "Seems I'm not wanted here, anyway."

"That's not true, Amaris!" Harry cried, aghast that I would assume such a thing.

By this time I was standing next to the portrait hole. I turned and spoke to him alone. "Ask them," I said, tossing my head in the seventh years' directions. "They'll tell you everything you need to know." On that note, I swung the portrait wide and clambered outside.

"You're not supposed to be out of bed," the Fat Lady said.

I nodded. "I know. But I can't stand it in there. I won't disturb you when I return."

"Do you expect to return at all?" She laughed, as if I was joking.

"Of course I do," I said. "Good night."

"Good night."

I slipped silently through the halls, stepping from shadow to shadow in my charcoal-grey cloak. I blended fairly well with the walls, so it was no surprise that, while standing still, Filch walked right by me and in through the great oaken doors. I walked out before he closed them, and I was free.

I left my cloak by the northern tower so that I could pick it up on my way back. I looked around the grounds, and, seeing no-one, started to run.

As I ran, my body changed. My strides shortened momentarily as I fell forward onto my hands, my legs changing to accommodate. Fur rippled to replace my clothing. My face elongated, features changing, ears rising to the top of my head. Before I'd reached the tree line, I was a wolf.

I ran for a long time, every now and then letting loose a howl of pure emotional torment. I was a pack animal, and no matter how much I prided myself of my ability to live estranged from others, I hurt. Every glare pierced to my heart, a dagger twisting deeper and deeper with every hate-filled word. I couldn't go on like this. Like Fred had said, Gryffindors must stick together. But I wasn't a Gryffindor. Not really.

I flopped down beside the lake at the heart of the Forbidden Forest, panting hard. My paws hurt from the running that I wasn't used to, my lungs from breathing so hard for so long, my throat from howling my heart to the unheeding moon. I let out another mournful cry, eyes beginning to stream again.

I dove into the water, Shifting into a creature of the lake. For that is what I am, really. A Shape-Shifter. My father was a Changer, mother a Romani witch. Some people considered me a Metamorphmagus (of the few wizards who knew), but I begged to differ. My father's father could be one, but I was only part Changer. Nowhere close to being that fancy-schmancy. "Shifter" suited a halfbreed such as myself just fine.

I dragged myself from the lake around an hour later, my very bones aching with tiredness. I Shifted wolf again and loped back to the Tower before picking up my cloak. I stood on it with my back paws and Shifted to an owl, clutching the fabric in my talons. I rose on silent wings and circled the tower, searching for my window. But some kind soul had shut it for me. How sweet. The only window open was on the far side, so I tapped on it while landing on the sill.

Of course, who would come to investigate but Fred Weasley. "What're you doing here, little lady?" he asked the owl, having no earthly idea I was a student. "What've you got there?"

He picked up the cloak, his eyes widening. "George..." he called, a strange note in his voice. Considering I was an owl, I couldn't very well interpret it.

"What, Fred?" his brother asked groggily. When he was shown the cloak, he swore. "Didn't we tell her not to?" he demanded.

"Guess she didn't listen, the stubborn prat." He dropped my cloak back onto the sill and examined me. For a moment, I'd panicked, thinking he'd figured me out, but then- "You know where she is?" he asked me, figuring it was worth a shot, I guess.

I hooted softly, my heart clenching. As much of a front he'd put up for me, he was still panicking over the loss of a fellow Gryffindor. Over the loss of _me_.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he wondered as he pulled on his pants. "Guess we'll go looking for her, then. George?"

"Ready, Fred."

"Can you lead us to her?" he asked me.

I hooted again, more urgently. His attention focused wholly on me, and I did the only thing I could. I Shifted my eyes. He was staring into the blue-hazel orbs of Amaris Dughan.

"Shit," Fred swore, and swore again. "You've got to be kidding me. Dughan?"

George looked confusedly from Fred to me (aka the owl on the sill). "What are you talking about, Fred? I thought she was on the grounds, somewhere."

"I think this IS her," he told him. "Did someone transfigure her?"

I hooted mournfully and shook my head. I wished I could speak, but I'd given enough away already. "Did you transfigure yourself?" I hooted again, this time in a lighter tone. "Where's your wand?"

I fluttered to the ground to land on my cloak, and pecked at it. A purely-ornamental rowan wand fell from one of the inside pockets onto the floor, and Fred picked it up. "Which spell?" he asked me, not entirely sure I'd answer. I shook my head again, and he resorted to prodding me with it.

A bluish light flew at me and hit me square on my breast. I blinked, thinking it probably would do no good. Just as I came to this conclusion, however, something did happen.

The wand threw me into my human shape, right enough. It forgot, however, that I'd Shifted with my clothes on. I recovered from the shock of cold air quick enough to gather my cloak around me. The stared at me with wide eyes. "Give me that!" I growled, breaking the spell as I snatched at my wand.

"Why did you transfigure yourself?" George demanded, catching the thing as his brother tossed it to him. Thank the gods their roommate, Lee Jordan, was asleep, and slept like the dead.

I growled in frustration. "Give me my wand!" I hissed. "I'm too tired for this!" As if my body had only just registered it, my legs fell out from under me, and I flopped to the stone floor, swearing.

"Didn't know it took that much out of you to become an animagus," George commented, twiddling with my wand just out of my reach.

"I've been flying all night," I muttered, denying nothing. "Now give me the damnable thing so I can sleep!"

"Nope." Fred grinned, reveling in their ability to royally piss me off. "You get to answer questions now."

"Wonderful," I sighed. "Ask away, Weasleys. As long as I get my wand back." Not that I needed it or anything, but they couldn't know that.

"Why'd you go out?" George asked.

"I felt like it."

"Why?"

I glared, but felt obliged to answer. "I'm a creature of the skies, in case you hadn't noticed. I needed to fly, so I did."

"Why would you NEED to fly?" Fred, this time.

I chuckled. "Same reason you need to eat. It's in my blood."

"What do you mean, it's in your blood?"

"The shape chooses the master. Or mistress, in my case."

"I don't picture you as an owl."

"You don't take the time to examine the picture, either."

"How would you know?"

"Incriminating yourself, Weasley?"

"What do you mean?"

"Thinking about a sixth year with Angelina still drooling. Not very proper."

"Angelina's got nothing to do with this."

"Right. Sure. Yep." While George had been paying attention to the banter between his brother and myself, I had been inching closer to him. I reached out slowly and snatched my wand from his hand. He swore, but I had it back. Damnable piece of wood.

"I must excuse myself, gentlemen," I said, a sarcastic note to my voice. "Good night." I stood, or tried to. Almost immediately, I collapsed again, swearing. I tend to do that a lot. Sorry.

"Oh dear, the sixth year's stuck in our bedroom. How kinky." Fred gave a hearty chuckle.

"Shove it, Weasley," I muttered, murmuring a levitating charm merely for effect. I rose about a foot in the air and gathered the cloak closer to my naked form. "Again, good night."

I thanked the gods I had a break first thing in the morning as soon as I was in my own room. I'd found a note warning me to close my window on my bed. Unsigned, of course. I had no doubts of the identity of this person, nor that she (for the boys, as far as I knew, couldn't enter) had heard my conversation with the Fat Lady. I shrugged it off and collapsed onto my bed, not worrying about anything but sleep.

~*~

The Hall was full to the bursting when I emerged in the morning, feeling surprisingly refreshed for having exerted myself so much the night before. Everyone, it seemed, had heard the cries of the wolf, believing it to be the werewolf that had disguised himself as a teacher two years before.

"Wasn't a werewolf," I told the people at my table.

"How would _you _know?" someone asked. "You grew up with muggles!" Thanks for remembering.

"That was a wolf, git," I told him. "Werewolves are much more primitive."

"How can you tell the difference?" another Gryffindor wondered.

"I lived close to the forests most of my life. Wolves were some of my best friends. What makes you think I _wouldn't _know the difference?" Besides, I added silently, I _was _that wolf.

"You don't know squat, Dughan," Fred muttered.

"And you aren't worth my retort, Weasley. Tried that needle to your ego yet?"

"It's a wonder the 'wolf', as it were, didn't eat you while you were out," he muttered with a glare.

"Yeah. It's not like animals can communicate between races or anything, right, Weasley?" I whispered to him alone.

"How would you know, Dughan?"

"I just do."

"Right."

The day passed quickly, and, all too soon, we were shipped off to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Which, in my book, wasn't qualified to be an actual class anyway. If they'd wanted a "Theory of Defenses Against the Dark Arts" class, they would've made one, not hired this toad of a woman to pretend to teach it. I, in my infinite wisdom, disputed everything she said, earning myself a very severe punishment for (in my opinion) a small crime.

"Put away your wands," Umbridge told us on the first day in her class. Apparently she hadn't wanted classes the week before. Crazy woman. We all blinked at her, too shocked to say much of anything at all.

"Professor?" Angelina Johnson raised her hand as she spoke.

"Yes, Miss Johnson?" Umbridge acknowledged her.

"This _is_ a defense class, where we learn spells to defend ourselves. How can we do that without wands?"

"A very sincere question, Miss Johnson," Umbridge said in her sickeningly sweet voice, high pitched as a bat's and just as painful to my over-sensitive ears, "but an unnecessary one. There is no reason whatsoever that you need to learn the spells in your old books. The Ministry, therefore, has assigned you new curriculum. You will learn the theories behind such spells, and thus harm neither yourselves nor your families."

I didn't bother with raising my hand. "So the Ministry is supporting Voldemort instead of working against him?" I'd heard whispers that the Dark Lord had killed my mother after he'd drained her immense well of power dry, and not childbirth, but I had no proof. I did, however, believe that Potter wouldn't make up such a tale if he could help it.

"You didn't raise your hand, Miss Dughall," Umbridge told me.

I raised my hand, but spoke anyway. "It's Dug_han_, Professor. And there you are." I just barely refrained from mucking up her own name, but 'twould have been quite rude of me.

"You will not backtalk, Miss Dughall. Detention." Umbridge's voice, it seemed, grew sweeter the angrier she got. She didn't listen well, either.

I looked at her with incredulously, one eyebrow quirked. "You can't possibly be talking to me," I told her when she raised her own eyebrow.

"And why can't I possibly be talking to you, Miss Dughall?" she asked, sweeter than before. Merlin, was she fuming.

"For that exact reason, Professor."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Miss Dughall, and if you don't stop being so cryptic, I'll give you another detention."

"Won't effect me at all." I grinned. This pissing teachers off thing was really catchy.

"Detention, Dughall!" Umbridge snapped, Hem Hem-ing afterwards.

Angelina Johnson raised her hand, and Umbridge called on her. "Professor," she said with a cruel smile in my general direction, "her name is Dughan. There is no-one named Dughall here."

"Dughan, then," Umbridge corrected herself. "You have two detentions, and will serve the first tonight at seven, in my office."

"Of course, Professor." I shot a glare at Angelina, who only smiled in her namesake-like manner.

I ended up with a total of three detentions that day alone, all of them from Umbridge. And all of them Johnson's fault. I snarled at her behind her back, and when she turned, hearing muttering, only grinned stupidly, inviting an extreme underestimation on her part. So she was one up. Not for long.

I gave up on asking for anything from anyone in my seventh year classes. None of them wanted me there, and I'd just as soon be out of their hair as well. But we were all stuck, so we made the best of it. And, being the youngest (though my birthday, I'd found, was on the first Hogsmede trip, whatever that was, it made no difference to them), I bore the brunt of their antagonisms quasi-silently.

Every other night, I left my bespelled window open and went out, enjoying my freedom. I didn't care that someone came in and tried to close the window. I'd made that mistake only once, and they'd come to regret it. I'd also found out who was behind it. I'll give you all three guesses, and won't count the first two.

On my off-nights, I sat in the common room for hours at a time, working on homework or just sitting in front of the fire. Sometimes Potter and his crew would invite me to play some sort of wizards' game, but normally I just sat and watched. 'Twas quite interesting, really, the way those games worked.

Sometimes, though, even on my off-nights when I didn't deal with any seventh years, I left the common room early. Upon reading one of my books for school, I had discovered that the school's protections from muggles also protected it from muggle technology. I'd been saving money for years, and had only gotten an iPod earlier that year, when my friends had had theirs for ages, and didn't want to leave it behind. I also wanted to get as much use out of the thing as possible, so I rigged it. I know, I tampered with the warranty, but what Apple didn't know wouldn't hurt them. I was able to change all the parts that worked on battery and other muggle inventions for power and imbue the battery with magic, bypassing the barriers on muggle tech. It was still Apple's design, and it still had their logo, so I couldn't very well change much else. I did want to put it back once I was through with school.

So I would lay on my bed with my shiny little iPlod turned all the way up and blasting out the rest of the world, if only for a few hours. My ears couldn't handle much more, but it was well worth it. Though I listened to some of the most depressing music known to mankind, I was able to shake off my own sorrows and laugh at theirs.

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The weeks went by, slowly, but with few mishaps. Umbridge had called in her detentions, but I'd been mysteriously ill all three days, and we'd had to reschedule. She reminded me of Scrooge when she'd "Hem hem"-ed her way to my sickbed in the infirmary. She'd told me that if I didn't get my act together, I'd have an even worse punishment, and I told her where she could shove it, in more polite terms, of course. I might hate her, but I'm not stupid.

"Professor," I'd said in the sweetest, most hospitable voice I could muster, "I can't help it if I'm sick. It's just happenstance it just happened to be on detention days." She'd had nothing to say to me after that, only told me we'd be talking. Right, like I'd actually voluntarily speak with the toad.

About a week before Halloween, I walked into the common room to see everyone gathered for a bit of fun. A party, I thought, and I hadn't been invited. Typical. My eyes wandered around the room, finally settling on Ginny and Hermione, two of the only people in my house that didn't hate me. For the moment, anyway. I made my way across the room to them, slipping between people like water where they were too thick. I'm not sure if my body actually Shifted or not, but it sure seemed like it at the time.

As I made my way across the room, though, I made the mistake of glancing at Fred Weasley. His eyes locked with mine, as if he were waiting all this time to catch them, and he held up a small gold piece. He dipped his head, as if in thanks, smirked, and turned away. Strange, I thought, a bit confused. What was that for? I shook myself from my daze, and continued on toward the girls.

"What's this party for, anyway?" I asked them once I reached the two.

"McGonagall's thwarting Umbridge again," Ginny answered with a grin. "She's giving out extra points for the slightest tasks."

"Wow. And she merits a party for that?"

"Jeez, Dughan, you'd think you weren't a Gryffindor, with your unfortunate lacking of the party spirit," someone said from behind me. I barely restrained myself from throwing an elbow and catching him where the sun didn't shine.

"Jeez, Weasley, you haven't seen me get started, have you?" I excused myself from Hermione and Ginny and dashed upstairs, not even throwing a glance Weasley's way.

They probably thought he'd upset me, seeing as I had a very moody personality then. Quite the contrary. In fact, just as they were about to send Hermione up to check on me, I dashed back down the stairs, wires draping around my neck.

"What are you doing, Amaris?" Hermione asked after I almost (accidentally, mind you) plowed her over on my way down.

"What's a party without music?" I asked the now-silent common room.

A cheer was raised, and soon American rock poured through the magic-ified speakers from the little metallic blue iPlod sitting atop them. I grinned at their congratulations on my inventiveness, and slipped over to settle across the room.

Hermione, Ginny, and I talked for a while, but none of us were particularly interested in the conversation. And I had an investigation to run.

"I'll be back later," I said, out of the blue.

"Where you heading?" Ginny asked.

"I need to talk to your brother for a minute."

"Alright. Just don't kill his ego."

"I won't. That'd be too easy." Both girls were giggling as I left them.

I walked across the common room, stopping to talk to someone I recognized every now and again. I didn't want to seem too eager to chew the boy out. Didn't want to be too eager to approach them at all, come to think of it. But soon I could delay it no longer. Lee Jordan nodded in my general direction, and all three shut up to turn around.

"Weasleys, Jordan," I greeted, nodding my head to each of them.

"What do _you _want, Dughan?" George asked, seemingly disgusted by my very presence.

"Certainly not either of you," I shot back, temper rising already. This wasn't going to be a very pretty conversation.

"Like we'd even consider you?" George's smirk was despicable. The only person in the school who could rival it was Draco Malfoy, and I wasn't particularly keen on him in the first place.

"Why are you here, Dughan?" Lee Jordan asked.

"Not for either of you," I said again, drawing my eyebrows together in disgust. I turned to Fred and crossed my arms over my chest. "I want my cut."

"Sorry, I don't harm children, as a rule." The retort was sadly lacking, but he's a boy. What more would you expect?

"Seeing as there's only six months between us, Weasley, what does that make you?"

"Older than you."

I shook my head in disgust. "I want my cut," I repeated.

"From what?"

"The gold you flashed me when I came in. I know you bet on me, and I want my cut."

"Why would you get any of it?" His smirk was even worse than his brothers. I felt something hit, and it almost knocked the breath out of me. I only realized later that it was my heart beating way too fast for its own good.

"Commission," I said simply. At his raised eyebrow, I elaborated. "I won your bet for you, didn't I?"

"Fine." He dug in his pocket, and pulled out a single bronze knut. "That's your commission. Don't spend it all in one place."

I examined it closely, turned it over and over in my palm, felt the weight, and, unbeknownst to the rest of them, its magical properties. "I'm not so sure I can, Weasley."

"What do you mean?" he asked. His eyes widened just a bit, and I knew he knew I knew something.

"It's set to disappear soon, isn't it? Leprechauns' gold is like that, I hear."

"Isn't gold," he said unconvincingly.

"Still, Leprechauns make anything look like gold, don't they?" It was my turn to smirk.

I was counting the seconds in my head, and held up the knut. With the fingers on my other hand, I counted down the seconds. As soon as I made a fist, the knut disappeared, as did the gold in his pocket.

He swore, digging around in his pocket for any of the gold he'd had only moments before. Instead of yelling at me, he whirled on his brother. "Why did you give me ALL the accursed gold?" he demanded.

"Good idea at the time," they both said, only beats apart.

Fred swore again, and turned back to me. He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited, staring at me.

"What?" I asked, feeling a bit weird.

"Just thinking."

My eyes widened in false shock. "Don't blow your brains. I can already see the steam."

"Shut up."

"Why should I?"

"If you don't, I'll force you to investigate Madam Puddifoot's on your birthday."

"How'd you know about that?" I demanded, the shock threading through my voice. And what was Puddifoot's?

"Ginny," George supplied.

I shook my head. "Why oh why did she betray me?"

"Quit with the melodramatics," Fred muttered distractedly.

"What're you thinkin' 'bout?" I asked, a stupid grin plastered on my face at the thought of annoying him.

"How best to torment you."

"Thanks," I drawled.

"Broomsticks at twelve," he said finally.

"What?" I asked, completely bewildered.

"The Three Broomsticks, twelve o'clock sharp."

"What's the Three Broomsticks?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

"Why?"

"Just be there."

"What? Going to embarrass me or something?"

"Perhaps. You'll have to be there to find out."

"Whatever."

I turned and left, making my way up to my room in the most annoyed posture this form was capable of. If I'd really wanted to show my annoyance, I would've taken a shit on his shoe, but since I didn't want to reveal what I was, I merely contented myself with fantasies.

I shut the door quietly and placed a sixth-year locking charm on it. I knew my visitor would come tonight, and I didn't want her to think that I was more advanced than she already thought I was. The window spell, though, was one that no human could ever dream of breaking.

A great horned owl tossed herself from my window and flew into the night, shrieks of elation following her soaring form. She flew higher and higher, diving and swooping, not caring about the food that was scattered for the pickings. Fred Weasley had asked - no, demanded - me to meet him. That counted as a date, right?

Alright, let's get this straight. It's not that I _liked _Weasley. Quite the contrary, in fact. I despised his guts. But for a girl so low on the totem pole, getting asked on a birthday whatever by one of the jerks that constantly tormented me was taking a huge leap toward getting into their ranks. I felt so alone there, so estranged, and to be accepted as one of them by _him _was amazing indeed.

I continued along that line of thought for a long time. After a while, though, my wings grew tired, my swoops less erratic, my screeches less ecstatic, and I swooped into my bedroom window. I'd noticed a slight sound difference in the room, but thought nothing of it as I landed and Shifted back.

The note on my bed was where I always found it, and, as always, I waved my wand at it. It hovered in front of me as I guided it out the window to read it.

_Your window needs fixing_

"Really?" I wondered aloud, even as it exploded in a shower of sparks. "It's getting old, Angelina." I removed the lock on my window and closed it, locking it in place with the single latch on the sill, and walked back to my bed. I flopped on it and closed my eyes, lying spread eagle with not a care in the world.

That is, until I noticed an extra set of lungs in the room. I swore, loud and long, as I sat up and knocked faces with my newest stalker.

"Boo," he said, rubbing his cheekbone where my forehead had connected.

"Damnit, Fred, don't _do _that!" I hissed, not even thinking about my choice of words.

"Merlin, Dughan, no wonder you're so stubborn. Your head is harder than a goddamn anvil!" He didn't seem to notice.

"What're you doing here?" I demanded angrily, ignoring the jab.

"Waiting for you. Why else would I be in your room?"

I smirked. "I can think of a few-Ow..." I rubbed my lip where my canine had hit it. "That hurt..."

"What?" He seemed genuinely concerned. But then, he was a Weasley, and anything _but _concerned.

"You made me bite my lip, damnit."

He pulled my fingers from my lip, where the blood was still pumping, albeit slowly, from the wound. "Here." And without any further warning, his lips pressed against mine.

I melted instantly. There was no concept too large as resistance. It was futile. The next thing I knew, I was again on my back with him on top of me, my fingers in his hair, his everywhere at once. When he finally pulled away, I was breathing heavily, and lip hurting just as much as it had before. He flopped down beside me, one arm flung across my stomach as if to make sure I was real. But mayhap it was just me, and he wanted to taunt me as much as possible.

"That help any?" he asked with a grin.

"Yeah," I lied.

"Right," he said. "You're still favoring it."

"Jerk."

His grin flipped to a smirk. "You know it."

I barely resisted kicking him in his engorged balls. "Go to hell."

"And miss Halloween? Hah."

"What's so big about Halloween?" I asked, knowing full well, but wondering if he did.

"Your birthday, idiot. How could you have forgotten?"

"Why do you care?"

"It's your seventeenth. You should be among friends to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" _And __**friends**__?_ I added silently.

"The removal of your trace. Don't you know anything?"

"Never had one," I said. "What's it do?"

"Of course you have one. It helps the ministry keep track of the young wizards and witches running around underage."

"Right. 'Cause they all knew where to find me." The ministry – but for Umbridge – had no idea I even existed.

"They sure did."

"You just keep telling yourself that."

"So you'll be there, right?" he asked, seemingly sincere.

"At the Three Broomsticks? Whatever that is? Perhaps."

"See you Saturday, then." With that, he strode out the door.

I blinked, my hand to my mouth. It was only at that moment that I realized two things: first, that my lip had indeed stopped hurting. Second, my archrival actually kissed me.

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The week went by quickly, and all too soon, Saturday had arrived. I awoke to the thump of something hard hitting my floor, and sat up to see what it was. A small pile of presents had appeared at the foot of my bed, and most of them were on the floor. I swore and picked them up. "Y'all didn't have to send me anything," I muttered, glad my friends had remembered all the same.

I missed them. They'd been so good to me. Father had left me there when I was but ten, and hadn't been able to retrieve me. He'd said it was only temporary, that he was helping the humans (and _I_ think, looking for Mother's killer). But something had happened, and he hadn't returned, even after the Hogwarts owl had arrived on my eleventh birthday - Dumbledore's note inside, though, warned me not to come just yet, that he'd fetch me when it was time. I'd been crushed, but understood that Father had more important things to do than collect his hindrance of a daughter from the safest place on the planet. If ever anyone needs a sanctuary, fly to Tintagel. It was the best place anyone could hope for.

They sent me small knick-knacks, mostly homemade gifts that I treasured the most. They didn't have much money there, seeing as Cornwall was a fairly poor district, but they managed to scrape by. They'd tried so hard to forgive me, to not hate me for why I'd left. Of course, they had no idea what I was, only that I was a latent witch, and more powerful than all of them. Yes, there is an orphanage for wizards! Amazing, no? I told them everything, my foster siblings, but I'd told them nothing of this. Some of them had hated me for it when I'd left, and this was their way of making it up. For me, though, they'd been forgiven a long time ago. I smiled sadly, placing all of the treasured gifts on the nightstand, as few as there were, and gazed at my diminished pile.

Hermione and Ginny, though they knew little of me, gave me trinkets as well, things to help me get by. Harry, in all his inventiveness, gave me a compass that pointed to whatever I asked of it. In the letter, he said he'd made it himself. I appreciated the thought, and hoped to use it well. At the bottom of the pile, there was a lumpy package, hastily wrapped, and with no scrawl other than my tidy name in emerald green on the paper.

I pulled it open, hardly daring to breathe at what I saw. A pair of kidskin gloves. I'd always wanted them, always wanted a chance to prove that I wasn't just a half-breed piece of cat shit unworthy to tread the ground the humans walked on. And now I had a pair. Who would've known? Who could've known? Not even my own father knew of my wishes, though he certainly tried hard enough to get in my head. And for what reason?

I sighed and shook my head, pulling the gloves on one by one, treasuring the warmth they provided. Not even my fur could keep my hands this warm, this safe. Again, I wondered who'd given them to me, who'd known, but I pushed the thought aside. I had a d - an appointment with Weasley, and breakfast was getting cold. I pulled on my charcoal cloak - yes, cloak. There's a difference, you know, between a cloak and a coat. The main one? A coat has sleeves. Most of the children I'd seen around Hogwarts wore long coats, not the traditional cloaks worn by magic users of the earlier centuries. But enough of that. I strode down the stairs, barely stopping to wish the general common room a happy Samhain and register the confused looks before leaving. I needed food. My heart was beginning to hurt, and I needed food.

Whenever I thought about the past, whenever I began to remember who I was, where I came from, my family and friends, any of that, my heart hurt. Physically hurt. Like there was a knife embedded in there, just waiting to be twisted with the memories of my life before. What - and who - I'd left behind. I loved them all dearly, but it'd been for their own safety that I'd left. I held onto that thought, the pain abating somewhat. Think of something else, I told myself. Think of what you're going to do with Weasley today. What he plans on doing. And with that mantra ringing through my mind, I skipped through the school to the Hall for breakfast, and my official birthday began.

The beautiful thing about being born on Samhain is that everyone celebrates. And for an insecure child like me – no matter how proud I am – it's the best birthday present ever. Not many people dressed up at Hogwarts, but then, I guess Hogsmede was the only real celebration they got. C'est la vie. We used to run around for hours in our homemade faerie costumes back at Tintagel, hiding in the secret passages and scampering around Jenna's feet as she cooked and cleaned and pretended to chase us. It was the only night of the year she gave us free reign of the place willingly. Not that we didn't explore the mythical castle anyway, but it wasn't much fun to be caught in the middle of an epic battle between King Arthur and Morgaine and sent off to bed.

Treating this day like any other, though what I had planned to do, seemed almost impossible. The entire school was in an uproar – this was Halloween, and the first Hogsmede trip of the year. People were excited, and that was not a good thing, here.

From what I had gleaned from the talk in the common room, Hogsmede was the tiny village a few km away that the school allowed the older students to visit every once in a while. It wasn't much, but at least it was better than being stuck in the castle all the time. And believe you me, being stuck in castles is not always fun.

The Golden Trio plus three gingers glanced up as I sat down. "Morning Dughan!" They all chorused. At least it wasn't "happy birthday". Perish the thought, before one of them catches it.

"Morning," I replied wearily. Hardly any sleep was not my idea of a good birthday. I'd stayed up late wandering the grounds again. Lost track of time, and fell into bed exhausted about three hours before sunrise. I downed my breakfast in record time, trying to stave off my body's demand for more sleep. Finally the food began to take hold, and I could stave off the sandman for a good twelve hours. I'd pay for it when I fell asleep that night, but tomorrow was Sunday. I could afford to skip a few hours' homework.

"Did you sleep alright?" Fred asked at my apparent lack of enthusiasm.

"No," came the honest answer around a strip of bacon. I chewed, swallowed, and continued. "Couldn't sleep."

"Out again?" he asked, referring to my 'flights'.

"You could say that."

"You were out after hours?" Hermione hissed.

"You didn't get caught?" Harry interrupted with a grin. "How?"

I gave him a droll look. "I grew up in a castle, Harry. I should think it'd be obvious."

George laughed. "And the fact that you're an anima-"

I cut in. "Animal enthusiast, George. Hagrid enjoys my company every now and again." Well he did! Just because I wasn't _human_ when I visited… George just shook his head, grinning. "Anyone excited about today?" So my conversation skills were a bit lacking. Leave off.

"You should be!" Ginny elbowed me in the ribs. "It _is_ your birthday after all."

I laughed. "Shh! The Slytherins could cast a curse with that!" Well, none of them had _that_ sort of power, but it did make everyone chuckle.

We rose for the exit as one, and made our way to Filch to be checked off. Ginny split off to ride in a carriage with her current boyfriend – Harry flinched a bit at that one, but I let it pass, seeing as he could sort her out on his own – so the rest of us claimed a carriage for ourselves. I drew a few dead rats from my pocket for the Thestrals – got some weird looks for it, too, feeding rats to the air – but we seemed to travel faster for it, so none complained.

Once in the town, the twins split off on their own adventure, and I tagged along with the Trio. They were obliging, giving me the shilling tour of the place. Neat little town, Hogsmede. Reminded me a little of the Caravan's wintering spot in Romania, all hustle and bustle. I'd only been there a few times, mainly to visit my granddam, but it was always so much fun. I knew that's where I wanted to be, once I settled down.

At noon, we found ourselves outside a pub. _So this is what he was talking about_, I thought, eyes locked on the swinging wooden "Three Broomsticks" sign. Without further ado, the four of us strode inside, immediately enveloped in warmth and the scent of what I would later learn to term Butterbeer. Fred and George hailed us from a table in the back, and I settled with my back against the wall, easily able to see everyone – and my potential flight paths, should misfortune suddenly befall me. Not likely, here, but one never knew.

"And our special guest arrives! Everyone, please welcome the birthday girl!" Fred's magically amplified voice echoed around the suddenly silent room. I let slip a soft curse. I knew he'd pull something like this. As if to make it worse, not only did I have the grace to blush, but a blinding purple light started to shine from my chair. "She's seventeen today!"

As one, the bar started to sing the traditional song for these parts. Something to do with repeating the phrase over and over again to a dinky tune. When the coward in me started screaming to run away, though, my pride kicked in. I knew something like this was coming, and by the gods, I'd stick it out. I could glare all I liked, but no igniting things today. I didn't want to start a record on my birthday as the shortest-lived Shifter in history.

My blush faded soon after the song did, and my first taste of Butterbeer was in a toast to losing tracers. And gods, was it good. Not as palatable as other delicatessen I've tasted, but for wizards' brew it was damned good. We sat around the table for a good long while chatting – well, mostly listening on my part. Inevitably, life crept back in, and people started dissipating. Everyone had shopping to get done, anyhow. Soon, Fred and I were the only ones left.

"Hey, Dughan," Fred said, scooting along the bench to perch next to me. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Weasley," I replied sincerely. Today hadn't been that bad. But it was only half over. And knowing my luck, it'd only get worse from here.

Fred put down his butterbeer and turned to me. "Look, Dughan. I want you to go out with me. Really go out with me," he clarified as I raised an eyebrow.

"Look, Weasley," I returned loftily. "We'd never work out. I—"

His hand slid through my hair and pulled me close, effectively silencing my protests with a kiss so deep I melted. It's not that I hadn't ever been with a bloke. It was just that the fellas I _had_ been with were much less skilled with their tongues. "Go out with me," Fred murmured against my lips.

I sighed heavily. "When you put it that way…" His eyes lit up, and I smiled. "No."

"Do I have to convince you further?" His customary smirk had returned, though his mouth was still quite active against mine, and around it.

"You could try." I wasn't against being snogged in public, especially with him. Good thing we were in the back of the pub.

"One date. Come on, Dughan. Then you can go back to hating me all you want." His tongue was working its way up my jaw.

"Weasley, I told you. We'd kill each other."

"We're not now, are we?" His breath was hot on my ear. He lipped at the lobe and tugged gently on the earring he found there. With his teeth. "One date."

"Now?" Damn, he was convincing.

He smiled triumphantly and pulled away, dropping one last peck on my lips. "No, birdbrain, next month. Of course now." He took my glove-encased hand and led me out into the chilly October air.

We ended up wandering the town for a good long while. He took me into Zonko's Joke Shoppe, of all places. Apparently it was his favorite store, but he showed quite the restraint as he led me around, never once dropping my hand. No complaints here. It was pretty funny watching him try to maneuver around the packed shop, pointing out things he thought I'd like – and he was more often right than wrong. We entered a few other places, but nothing too fancy. And we stayed well away from his threat of "Puddifoot's" from the other night.

Eventually we ended up on the outskirts of the town, and Fred pressed a finger to my lips as we walked inside. Not that I needed the reminder – or the distraction. Animals were sleeping _everywhere_. The witch that presumably owned the place waved us over behind the counter. I could feel the slight difference in the air, and realized she'd set up a silence spell around the register so as not to wake her charges. "Welcome to our humble abode," she greeted with a smile. "How can I help the two of you?"

Fred spread his mouth in that customary lopsided grin of his. "We're looking for a pet…" He trailed off, glancing my way. "Aren't you?"

I laughed. "Well, I hadn't really thought about it."

"Then yes. Pick one, Red. Whichever one you want. It's her birthday, you see." The witch was absolutely charmed, hook, line, and sinker.

I, however, wasn't. "Don't call me Red." I slipped my hand from his and turned toward the animals now crowding around us. There were so many!

A litter of kittens were sprawled on a pet bed, their mother having too much fun pestering me. I crept toward them, the grey tabby of the lot sticking out. She mewed plaintively, opened her big blue eyes, and demanded that I take her home. Actually, it was more of a _'You. Worship me. I'll be good for you. Just get me out of this dump.'_ As if she were hypnotizing me. On any other human, it might have worked. Kitten eyes, you see, are much more effective than those 'puppy eyes' everyone keeps talking about. Yep. I was hers.

I snatched her from the bed before she could get distracted by her romping siblings and cuddled her close to my chest. "This one," I said, turning back to the witch at the counter.

Fred just laughed. "Told you," he muttered to the witch. "How much?"

I pulled out my changepurse and counted out a few coins with one hand, the other too busy making sure the kitten didn't fall off my shoulder. She was going to be trouble, this one. Devil cat. I held them out to the witch, who then immediately glanced to Fred.

"Happy birthday," Fred told me, ever-so-politely dumping my coins back in the pouch. He paid her in the blink of an eye, and when I'd blinked again, we were outside, the kitten curled up against my throat. "Red." The mischievous grin was back. Jerk.

"Don't _call_ me that," I said darkly, earning a mewling kitten for my troubles. _Dai-dein_ had called me that. Nobody else was allowed to, 'til he came back. "But thank you, Weasley. Today was…enjoyable."

"That's it? Enjoyable?" He laughed, swooping in to kiss me again. I swear that boy enjoyed every startled look I gave him. "Better?"

"Loads," I told him dryly, too proud to be more honest. Inside, though, I was flying. Fred Weasley was actually being _more_ than civil, at least for tonight!

He must have thought I was funny, because he wouldn't stop chuckling as he slid his fingers through mine and led me back to the carriages.

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"So tell me, Red," I punched him, and he let out a whoosh of air. An apologetic glance later, he was talking again. "What is it you'd like to do for our next one?"

I blinked. "Next one?" I couldn't help but ask. He was being awfully pushy. The Fred Weasley I knew wouldn't give a damn about me. Why was he being so nice alluvasudden?

"Next date. What do you want to do? Where do you want to go?" Fred had doggedly followed me to Transfiguration. It wasn't like we were in the same class. Course not. That'd be too easy.

"Who says there _will _be one?" I returned, darker by far than I felt. But one must keep up appearances. We wouldn't want anyone to know that perhaps the great Ice Bitch herself was perhaps thawing around the thump-thump.

Fred laughed and held open the door for me – held open the door?! Who was this kid, and what had he done with Fred? "I do, of course. When and where, Red?"

My elbow found its way to his ribcage. He was a bit more prepared this time, but not by much. "You pick," I told him. Perhaps the second-worst decision I ever made. Being unprepared for McGonagall's major NEWT review quiz ran a close tie.

Not that I had any problems with transfiguration. Hell, I _was_ transfiguration, in its purest form. But when a professor calls you out to demonstrate a spell you've never used with a wand you're completely unfamiliar with, one expects to go awry. Thank the gods it was transfiguration, or I'd have been royally fucked.

I whispered the correct incantation (I hoped), swished my rowan wand, and watched as the frozen spider changed before our eyes to a near-perfect nightstand. McGonagall had quite the sense of humor, I must say. The transformation back was less complex. I just convinced the table that it was better off a spider, albeit a frozen one, and it complied. Of course, add in the magical fireworks and hullabaloo first.

By the time class ended, Fred had managed to convince me that meeting him in the common room after everyone was asleep tonight was a good idea. I agreed, visibly reluctant but ecstatic inside. He wanted another date! From me!

Throughout the afternoon, I was alternately skipping and sulking, depending on whether anyone was around. Inside my room during breaks was one of the former. I'll leave you to figure out the rest. When evening swung round, I was fairly brimming over with excitement, and headed straight to my room after supper before I could reveal my happiness to anyone but Hermione and Ginny. Of course I could hide nothing from them – at least as far as boys were concerned, anyway.

Turns out, Fred had escaped the castle after supper and nicked some butterbeer from the Broomsticks, and snacks from the kitchens. How, I didn't have any clue, but he had, and we were currently lounging on the couches, drinking and munching and talking, and maybe a bit more touching than absolutely necessary for an as-of-yet unofficial couple.

"How's that cat of yours doing?" Fred asked after a while. He'd long ago turned his gaze from mine to the fire, but I figured he'd bring it back eventually.

"She's well. Loving the new living arrangements. She takes up nearly half the bed, the greedy bugger." My affectionate tone couldn't be helped. I adore cats, and if I had to be stuck in one form, it would without a doubt be that one.

Fred smirked. "Good. Then she won't have too much to complain about when I take over."

I laughed outright at that one. "You? She won't let anyone within ten feet of her 'space'."

"I have my ways."

"And she has hers. Good luck."

"Thank'ee, milady. I'll send my regards from your bedroom, then."

"Like hell you will."

"Why so serious?"

I just laughed. It felt good to laugh, and he pulled it out of me so easily.

"Whatcha wanna bet?"

"What, that you can get into my room, or that you can get Jem to give up her spot?"

"Both." He pondered a moment. "If I win, you kiss me."

"And if I win?"

"I kiss you?"

"You…you take care of Jem for the week. Including giving her half your bed."

"Deal." He held out his hand, and I shook it. Gods, I was an idiot.

Not only did Fred Weasley win the bet, but he won it that night. About ten minutes after I left for bed, I had to piss. Once back, Fred was sprawled on my bed, the cat nestled comfortably on one of _his_ pillows on the floor. "Damn you." It spilled out, I swear!

"What, Red? You sure take a while to have to piss." His traditional smirk was sprawled as much across his face as he was on my bed. My. Bed. _Dammit_.

"Stop. Calling. Me. Red." I closed the door quietly, trying not to wake the neighbors. Not cool. How'd he gotten up the staircase? Or past my locks?

"Come here then. You owe me." He sat up and beckoned me closer. Only problem was, I was frozen to the door handle.

Kissing him would force me to admit my growing attraction, and my pride couldn't handle that well. It also couldn't handle being cheated on a bet, however he'd done it. My heart, though, knew he'd won, knew he could call in his price any time, and knew it would be much safer – and nicer – in my room than anywhere else in the castle.

The skirmish was all too brief. I dropped my grip on the door handle and made my stately way to his side of the bed. I couldn't help feeling a quiet kinship with the fellows destined for the hangman's noose. A dark chuckle almost escaped my lips. Couldn't have the boy think I was enjoying this, could we?

The kiss was every romantic's dream. He pulled me onto his lap and cradled my head in his hands. Full lips permanently quirked at the corners pressed against mine, and as my eyelids fluttered closed, I lost myself completely. There was no room, or cat, or detention if we were caught. Just this moment; this kiss. And then it was over, and he was dropping me unceremoniously to my bed, scaring the shit out of my cat, which upon further inspection, had never, in fact, left the bed. "Cheater," I mumbled, glaring at him. He merely grinned in reply and slipped out the door.

"_He told me he was gonna try it, mum,"_ Jem told me quietly as I flopped down beside her. _"He didn't think I'd understand."_

"_That's my best girl,"_ I murmured, giving her a scratch behind the ears, not one whit angry at her. _"Thanks anyway for the help."_ And then I fell asleep.

~*~

The next few weeks literally flew by. When I wasn't studying or in class, I was with Fred. And when he wasn't demanding my time, I was out flying. I'd severely restricted my flight patterns, though he 'knew' where I was late at night, I still had to pretend I was 'just an owl'. Though sometimes I changed up a bit, Shifting delightedly between forms once inside the Forest, I couldn't stay out for long. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was carrying jesses, and only the truly Wild part of me minded.

Now that we were "officially" dating (apparently two dates constituted this), Fred would often sneak into my room. My spells had made it easy for him – though my 'mysterious' visitor still tried to force the window closed, she spent more time fabricating silly notes to scare me than actually attempting to get me stuck. I just hoped she and Fred didn't run into each other while in _my_ room, or there'd be serious hell to pay on all sides.

Most of the time, Fred waited until I'd returned before coming to visit, either to torment me or to eke out another kiss. This time, though, he showed up before I did. I swore mentally, but there was nothing for it. Grateful to my paranoia that I'd left my wand in the waistband of my pajamas, I Shifted.

No-one, not even my beloved father, had seen my True Form. It was the Fey's secret refuge from the strains of the everyday, no matter which world we inhabited. Each of us has our own, just as we have a fatal flaw. Both are intertwined, and being human was definitely _not_ on either list. My true form was at least humanoid, though nowhere near 'natural', according to either muggles or wizards.

I kept my raven hair, though the red was much more prominent, glistening almost as trails of blood would. Black feathers adorned my pointed ears, sprouting from lobe to tip, and on the back of my neck. Bright grey orbs filled with sunbursts shone brightly from a round, almost homely face. Fingers and toes possessed an extra joint, and my bones were hollow, though strong; the better for my hideaway wings to carry me through the sky. My magic, so dimmed from my long life in the human world, manifested itself back into my aura; the ethereal shine was too much for many the lesser creature to bear. I also grew from my usual 143cm to about 150cm, quite a jump for li'l ol' me. It took a mere heartbeat to accommodate, but that heartbeat could be my last in a battle. And I only took my TF when I had to – about once every three months to be safe, or I'd lose it.

Now, though, I chose to be human, though I would need, soon, to take the form again. The deadline was nearing. If I stayed away from my True Form for longer than six months, I would lose this particular form permanently. If I refused to find another (think AmerIndian spirit rituals) within the six months left in the year's cycle, I would die. This failsafe was only for us halfbreed Shifters in case of capture in the old days. Humanity had found ways of keeping us from disappearing, and though a year was a long time, it was nowhere near long enough to divulge all our peoples' secrets. I would gladly die if it would protect the rest of us – but now there _were_ no 'rest of us' to be had, not on this world, anyway.

Fred sprawled silently, waiting for my approach. He didn't know much about animagi, or he'd have known that there was no instinct about them, just human thought. I'll give him credit, though, if he'd moved then, I would've pounced thinking him the shrew. There wouldn't have been anything left. After that heartbeat's recovery, from Owl and fright both, I was human once again, and grateful for his relaxed pose, though the rapture was easy enough for me to see.

"Can you teach me that?" he asked, patting the space beside him.

I shook my head. "Father taught me, before he left. It's a family thing." And besides, I was too unskilled in the teaching department to handle anything more than the rudimentary.

He sighed. "I've always wanted to be an animagus."

I'd never seen this part of him, and it scared me a bit, though I hid it quickly. "I could see you as one," I said with a small smile. "A fox." It came out on its own. I swear.

"A fox, huh?" He laughed. "I was thinking a weasel, but that works. A fox…"

I left him to his own thoughts. Instead of sitting down when invited, I pulled the chair up to my desk and started on my letters home. Jem sprang up on my lap and kneaded her claws a few times just to bug me, but I didn't care anymore. I gave her an absent scratch and dipped my quill in the ink, mind abuzz with things to tell Jenna and the rest.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing home." I scribbled out a greeting, my chicken scratch barely legible. But Jenna wouldn't have a problem with it. It was an exact replica of hers, after all. I figured she'd appreciate the gesture. "To Tintagel."

"Ah. What're you saying?"

"How much of a brown-noser you are." I tossed a smirk his way. "That I miss them, hope they're doing well, they're all still alive, that sort of thing."

"I thought you said your family was dead."

"Mother died in childbirth; Father disappeared when I was ten. My granddam's still alive out beyond the Curtain – she's Roma, as if it matters." It did, but he was a wizard. He wouldn't know about that sort of thing. Maybe. "Tintagel's full of orphans, most of whom are magical in their own right. It's basically a school for them, and has been for millennia."

"Really? I thought Hogwarts was the only one on the island." Ethno-centric little shit.

"No, it's not." At least he hadn't mentioned the orphans. Yet. "It's actually quite respectable. Dumbledore asked I stay there until I could come here this year."

"Why did you come at all, then?" That petulant stare was getting to me. I wanted him. Bad. Pride was the only thing getting in the way, and it wasn't budging without a proper struggle. Dammit.

"Dumbledore called. I was officially accepted when I was eleven, but he said it'd be best if I came now. He wasn't sure how well the students would react to a Roma in their midst." And that was all truth! Just because I hadn't mentioned my father's side didn't mean I was lying, did it? Hah. Who actually believed that 'lying by omission' thing anyway? I just wasn't telling the whole truth – it'd get us all killed if I did, anyway.

"Oh. I guess that makes sense. Though you really don't seem too…Roma...?"

"Gypsy, Weasley. My mother's family is all gypsies."

"Oh." I spared a glance and caught his crestfallen look, only partially hidden the next moment by his customary smirk. "And that matters how?"

"I won't steal your shit, Weasley, or anyone else's. Get out." And he did.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hey guys, it's Miri. A couple things: I'm officially back at college now, so I won't be updating as much. *cry* Hurts me too, loves, but it's the way it's got to be. I'm at that point in the story where I KNOW where I want to go with it, and I know how I want to get there, it's just a matter of writing it down. So yeah. That motivation is what I lack, so it might be another week or so before I update. Y'all do realize I've had about 300 odd hits with this fic alone? I feel fantastic! Thanks guys! Please review. It's not that hard to click the little button at the bottom of the page. You know you want to!!!

**Chapter 7**

I suppose someone around my window had heard my 'revelation'. It wasn't that big of a deal, really. Nobody in the wizarding world paid much attention to people's looks, more their magic. I supposed it was a good thing I'd remained undiscovered so long; a mixed blessing. At least the Golden Trio plus one (Ginny) didn't treat me any different. Who knows? Maybe they were too naïve to know, or care. Whatever the case, I found myself trading stories over lunch with these folk rather than my 'peers' – those being of my own age bracket were rather annoying anyway, and the seventh years had a perpetual price on my head.

True to form, the rumors of my granddam's Romani blood flowed through the school like Greek Fire. The way I figured it, one of the girls from upstairs (or down) had had her window open, caught the "my granddam's a Roma" and spread it about, embellishing the obvious, completely foregoing the other side of the story: a boy was in the girls' tower. Hardly anyone knew what a being a Roma meant, but a Gypsy? Everyone knew that word. Everyone hated 'them', just for the idiocy – or the survival methods, depending on your viewpoint – of a few of my people.

Just because a few of the traveling Roma are pickpockets didn't mean we all are! My granddam's caravan made an honest living, if a simple one, selling rugs, carpets, and other weavings made during the winter. She was a Seer, one of the few magically gifted people in my clan, and put it to good use. Though 'untrained', as long as she didn't look for her own future, she could step into the rivers of Time and spy what bends lay ahead for those who asked with a pretty penny in hand. And people paid, too, once they realized she knew her stuff. Even the muggles appreciated it. She didn't reveal near as much, and used more 'traditional' methods of Seeing with them, but the result was the same. A bonafide forecast, complete with warnings and everything. Not that anyone ever heeded those, but it was Rani Cooper's duty to tell them all the same.

Of course, that wasn't her _real_ Name. Only those of us who were granted the honor of her favor were given her _real_ Name. Names have power. If you know how to use them, names can give you absolute and utter control over a person. We all have use-names. Robert's is Bobby, James' is Jimmy, and Elisabeth's is Lissy, or Betty. Quite simple, really. But Amaris, or Mari? Nah. A use-name only. What, you think I'm going to _give_ you my Name? Hah. Everyone has to earn that right, and you're no exception. I'll cut you a little slack, though. It's not like I can see you now, is it?

The thing about Names is, they can change with a person. If Demi's Name was actually Faysal, meaning 'judge', and he made a few decisions that weren't so good, his Name could change to Loki, the cruel trickster of Norse myth. But that's just an example. Usually Names weren't so complex, but they could be, depending on their person. Mine used to be Owl-Flies-Alone, loosely translated from Gaelic, but that all changed when I arrived at the orphanage. Now it's…well…it's different.

Classes went on as usual, seeming to flow around me rather than try and drag me along. It was only late November, but already the professors were urging their pupils to begin studying for the major exams of their respective years. History of Magic's Professor Binns was about the only steady thing in any of my classes, considering he was one of the few professors I had with my year mates. I often doodled in his class, listening with only one ear as he droned on about some war or another. The only war I was interested was the last Great War with Voldemort. Somehow, Mother had been involved, and I was determined to find out how. It would just take forever.

Thinking of Mother sent my thoughts careening toward my younger brother, now long dead and buried beside Mum, and, further afield, Father. Where was he? What was he doing that was so important? Had he found out more about Mum? Why hadn't he ever written? A thousand and one questions swirled about my mind, not a one of them answered. One stood out most prominently, though: _Why didn't he write me?_ He knew very well where I was, and had known since he left me at Tintagel six years ago. He didn't know precisely when I'd be here, but he most definitely knew I was here by now. So why hadn't I heard anything?

It didn't even occur to me then that Umbridge was reading all our mail. That her IS was even now working to uncover plots she dreamed up overnight, and some she hadn't. She knew, somehow, I was different. She hadn't yet figured out how, but it was only a matter of time. Vigilant little frog, that witch.

She was still trying to get me in for those detentions, and, one of these days, I'd have to give in and actually go. Harry had told us about her magical quill, so I was somewhat prepared. I'd taken to carrying a vial or two of sheep's blood around, just in case she caught me unawares. I couldn't have her even so much as sniffing at my blood. Though it was as red as any human's, it had certain properties—Hells, my bloodstream was full of more magic than that woman had restraint, much less ambition! If she raised it anywhere near her nostril, she'd notice the magic, and then she'd be on me like white on rice. Dumbledore wouldn't have a chance of saving my ass; with Roma _and_ Faerie blood in my veins, Umbridge would have enough to truss me up like a Christmas goose and carry me off to Fudge for a thorough 'examination'. See, the Fey were 'tolerated' in the wizarding world because they couldn't get rid of us, but Umbridge would find a way of twisting everything I did into a conspiracy. Then she'd have every right to take me off to the Minister of Magic, and I'd never get away with my life, much less my magic. Though with my Deadline approaching rapidly, perhaps it wouldn't be as long as she hoped.

I had no intention of getting caught, however. I'd tried every sham I could think of to trick this quill of hers, and one might actually work. It required convincing the thing that my blood wasn't coming out of my hand. And convincing an inanimate object that its spelled commands were wrong was _not_ fun. It took huge concentration, lots of practice, and the risk of utter disaster. But considering the woman was approaching me, practice in person would just have to do.

"Miss Dughall." Umbridge hem-hemed at me. Why she insisted upon mucking up my name, I'll never know. Angelina Johnson had a ball correcting her, and if it got the girl's mind off of torturing me, well, kudos. Hem-hem. "Dughan."

"Yes, Professor." It wasn't a question. It was almost end of class, I'd taken hardly any notes, and pretty much sat there glaring at her and pissing her off. She couldn't very well take off marks for glaring (yet), so I was currently in the clear.

"My office, seven o'clock sharp. You will be fulfilling those detentions tonight." She hem-hemed again and moved away, observing the rest of the class's mostly unsuccessful attempt at keeping their laughter silent. "Weasleys, you too, since you seem to find Miss Dughall's evasions so funny." Fred swore silently and glared at the Frog's retreating backside. George just made a face.

At seven o'clock sharp, the three Gryffindors trooped to Umbridge's office in relative silence. The twins were content to shoot glares at me from under hooded eyes. I just shook my head and laughed. "Your own faults," I told them.

The Frog confiscated our wands when we arrived, setting them on the far side of her desk. She handed out quills and parchment – apparently the twins had taken detentions from her before, because there were no questions brokered. And since I already knew, I didn't ask. Didn't want to hear anything from her. But my damned thoughts seemed to only egg the woman on.

"You two," Umbridge pointed at the twins, "will write the following," and gestured with her short stubby wand toward the chalkboard. _'I will not laugh at others' misfortunes'_ scrawled across the top. "And you," this to li'l ol' me, "will write this." Another gesture, another 'flourish', if you could call it that. The wand didn't have enough length for a proper 'swish', much less anything else. _'I will not poke fun at my professors'_, which I thought rather inappropriate considering I'd never 'poked' anyone. Except Jem. But she was a cat. "One hundred lines for you, Dughall, and fifty each for you two." And she hem-hemed her way to her chair, where she was immediately swallowed up in the abyss of her enormous oaken desk.

The twins mumbled something about flattening me, but I ignored them. I was too busy trying to concentrate on confounding this quill. I'd figured a twist on the _confundus_ charm should work, and indeed it had. I just needed to focus on it, and nothing else, at least until I got into the rhythm of it. My hand itched like the devil, but to make it convincing, I'd had to etch the words in like I was really using the quill. The sheep's blood made no difference in color or texture, and seemed to be draining at a slow enough rate that two of the vials should be more than enough.

Once I did find my rhythm, I was able to let my mind wander. My hand hurt too much to completely drift off, keeping me anchored in the world enough for my concentration, but I fled my body as much as I dared. My spirit lurked in the rafters of the office, staring down at the various occupants, myself included. The twins hadn't yet figured how to get their wands, so they were stuck writing lines. I knew they had an escape plan and were itching to use it. I just wished they'd included me.

My mind wandered, as it was wont to do with little to focus on, and eventually I got around to realizing the symbolism of our predicament. Only me, right? There were three of us suffering here, not just myself. Three was a sacred number to both my peoples: all the major gods of Gaelic tradition were polymorphic, coming in threes. Counting magpies in Romani culture was an oft favored pastime: _'One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a death, four for a birth. Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret ne'er to be told'_ went the old rhyme, or at least one version of it. I didn't want to think of death, though. He was too potent a figure. But those who courted him, perhaps? _'Two's company, three's a crowd'_ also came to mind. It seemed Fred and George were quite content with their lot, huddled as they were as far away from me as they could be. But what if three were company? Harry, Ron, and Hermione got along just fine, so it was certainly possible. But with me in the mix? It was more ironic than anything. Company my ass.

But perhaps… Didn't Harry say something about Dumbledore having an army of some kind? Not that it was sanctioned, but it was still there. An offshoot of that sort of thing, one more suited to trickery than outright rebellion…The twins could make that work. They were all about being Loki's avatars. I laughed into the Spirit Plane. Loki would have a ball supporting these two. Who knows, perhaps he already did? At any rate…Time sure flew by fast. My body was almost out of lines. I drifted back down, settling easily into my skin. As if I'd never been gone, I continued writing the last few lines, wiped the quill clean on the page, and handed it in. Umbridge took it without a word, so I snatched up my wand and left.

Once out of the room, I magicked the vials to my room. Just in time, it seemed, for Umbridge bustled out of the room and called me back to check my hand. Good and deep, and just starting to leak, just like Harry had told me. She nodded brusquely and returned to the room. Fred and George emerged a moment later, each holding their hands in the other. "If I don't see a quill for the rest of the week, I'll die a happy man," Fred confided to his brother as they turned down the hall toward me.

I wasn't walking very fast, still wrapped up in my thoughts, so I had quite a start when Fred wrapped his uninjured arm around my waist. "Hey Red, whatcha doin' tonight?" I elbowed him lightly on account of both our hands.

"Catching up on some work, and healing my hand." Never one for idle pleasantries, this Ice Bitch.

George wrapped his arm around my shoulder companionably. I liked George. He wasn't as much of an ass as his brother. Tenderhearted, if you caught him when he wasn't smirking. Like he was now. "Come on, Dughan," he cajoled. "You know you want to help…"

"With what?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. Damned cat was rubbing off.

"Getting back at the Frog, of course." Fred picked up where his brother left off, and I was momentarily distracted by the stereo-seeming conversation. One ear to the other and back again, making me seasick. Not fun.

"How so?" My eyes narrowed at the both of them.

"Well, you could swoop in and drop a few…hints," George suggested.

"While you two do what? Scatter when she catches me with the runs on her desk? I don't think so."

"Nah, we're much better than that," Fred continued. "Dung bombs, flying widgets-"

"-muggle tacks, sheets for those creepy kittens, that sort of thing." George finished with a flourish of his uninjured hand, as if sweeping said sheets atop the cats' dishes as we spoke.

"Sounds boring." Honestly, the fact that they were thinking about including me was fantabulous. I just had to figure out why, and quick.

"Not really. Half the thrill is getting caught." This one was chorused. Gods, they needed to stop that. Now.

"But if anyone finds out about me…"

"They won't, Red, that I promise you." Fred kissed my hair. Damn, damn, and double damn! Him and his tender side. That bastard knew how to twist a woman so many ways…Ugh!

"They could." Now that I'd started putting up a fuss, I couldn't stop. Besides, arguing with the twins was fun, if you could get past the whole back and forth thing.

"No-one will find out, Amaris," George reiterated. "We're keeping real quiet like, cross our hearts." I was glad he didn't finish that line. Thinking about Death earlier had given me the creeps, and I couldn't help looking around every corner for him to sneak out and steal one of them away.

I sighed heavily, and they knew they'd won. "Lets go get your hands cleaned up, shall we?" I asked instead of giving them the satisfaction of an outright 'yes'. The twins laughed, not letting go of me the whole way to Griffindor Tower.

Once we'd arrived, they split off for their washroom and I for mine. Ginny followed me in a minute later, demanding all the details as to why her brothers were clinging so tight. I just admitted to having endured a long and torturous session under Umbridge's watchful eye with them both, and she nodded in understanding, backing off the questions. The detentions were a very loose-kept secret: everyone knew about them, but nobody talked, which was alternately grand and ugly, and depended wholly on whomever wanted to know. Ginny was sweet enough to help me start the wrapping after I'd spilled aloe all over the scars. They'd heal fine, it'd just take a while, and I'd have to change the bandages every day. Which meant someone would have to help start it. But that was another worry. For now, after I'd thanked her profusely, I found the twins lounging in the common room and rallied them, albeit quietly. The later founders of Three's Company then trooped very stealthily to a secretive corner of the castle. Once there, we planned our revenge.

CLICK THAT BUTTON

V


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